#just realized i never posted this.. Here you go. Feast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sheisjoeschateau · 11 months ago

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

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Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn��t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters. Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst @goosy-goose

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #enemies to lovers trope #joe keery #baron marmalade #jkeeryedit #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #mishas masterlists #Steve Harrington is a mother #mom steve

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wings-of-ink · 4 months ago

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zahn spinnet about cook mc making a whole shepherds pie just for them

they really need to put some meat on those bones

Oh that would be so sweet. Also, super weird you mentioned shepherds pie specifically...that is exactly what I've made for dinner tonight! You watchin' me, Anon?

So, Zahn has an optional romantic scene in the chapter that I'm writing now. I'm not too far away from doing that scene currently, so I think I'll post a teaser from that. We'll work on getting Zahn fed well in the next couple chapters. ^_^

So, until then...

The smell around you is divine. You've patiently waited for your newest creation to finish baking over the fire. Zahn is to meet you at home soon, and little do they know about the feast you have prepared.

Carefully, you use your hand, wrapped in a towel, to turn the trammel hook so you can retrieve the kettle. Prying the hot lid off you are suddenly enveloped more in the wonderful smells. It looks perfect. The mash you've placed atop the meat, gravy and vegetables has a lovely and lightly-toasted crust. The thick filling underneath bubbling through, creating extra tasty pockets of goodness.

As you let the pot cool, the brisk chill of early winter speeding things along, you prepare a basket of bread and a bottle of cider. A meal fit for royalty. You set the table, including the kettle and a single large plate just for Zahn. This special meal is only for them. You've already decided to have a simple meal of your own and some bread and cider of course. You cannot wait to see Zahn's big blue eye light up at the feast.

What should you call it, though? You used some mutton supplemented with a bit of goat as your meat...and it is a bit like a pie, just without pastry. Perhaps 'shepherd's pie' - considering a shepherd would have such animals at their disposal...they could eat the part of the flock they do not like. You smirk to yourself.

A knock sounds at the door - one that sounds like some sort of bizarre code before it resolves into frantic little taps.

"Come in!" you call.

Zahn rushes in and quickly closes the door behind them. They're piled with cloaks already, and the cold has barely set in. "Oh, it's so warm in here!"

After shedding all cloaks but their special one, Zahn rushes to hug you. You snuggle them close, tucking their cold nose into the crook of your neck. Once you begin feeling the pecks of little kisses, you know that Zahn is just warm enough. If you don't, you'll both end up missing dinner - again.

"Come sit, dinner is ready." You grab Zahn's hand and tug them to the table.

Zahn gasps. "Oh wow! That looks delicious. I love potatoes!"

"You love all food, and it's not just potatoes. Sit, I'll serve you."

Zahn claps. "Oh I love it when you tell me that," they say, plopping down in their seat.

You scoop out a huge helping of your special pie and carefully set it on the plate, splaying sliced bread along the side before you pour a cup of cider for them.

Zahn's eyes are huge and their hand is covering their mouth. "Oh, I'm drooling...but what about you?"

"I made this all for you. I told you that I'm going to make sure you get all the food you could ever want from now on. You're never going hungry ever again." You smile.

"All for me?"

You nod. "I'll start with bread and cider, but I'll just have some-"

"Please eat it with me..." Zahn's pink lips are pulled in a frown and you realize those blue eyes you adore so much are watery. "I can't believe you'd do something like this for the likes of me..." The tears finally fall. "I want you more than any feast."

You reach across the table and hold Zahn's hand. "Okay...if that's what you want."

Zahn smiles and wipes their eyes. "Let's eat until we have to roll on the floor to get around!"

As you dig in, Zahn's pleased moans over their food make you smile. They finish one plate quickly and then get another helping. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten. What is it?"

"You said that the last time we made a big dinner, and I call it shepherd's pie."

Zahn looks down at their plate. "...You made this out of a shepherd?"

You stare back unsure if Zahn is joking or not.

"Were they old or something?" Zahn asks, taking a big bite of the meat.

You really hope Zahn was joking...

#god cursed if #asks #gc ro zahn #this ended up a lot longer than intended lol

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fellow-human-writer · 2 months ago

Text

On writing motivation and writer's block (+ a special piece of my own writing)

So, for a self-proclaimed writer, I haven't been doing very well with my writing lately. It's been well over six months now since I last wrote anything of substance (I spent two weeks writing a chapter every day and burned myself out, but that's a story for another day). Right now, it's hard to not feel a bitter sense of guilt about it all. Where has all my motivation gone? How dare I call myself a writer? Maybe I should just forget about it. I'd never make it anyway. But then, I remember one particular piece of writing I produced over 9 months ago, some time before hitting my big wall. A seemingly random fragment from chapter 9 of my semi-abandoned WIP. Perhaps it will read as nothing special to you. I won't claim it to be perfect, or even great writing. But to me, it is hope. I showed it to my one and only beta (more like alpha) reader at the time, who'd been keeping up with my novel-writing endeavors, and they told me that these paragraphs had evoked deep feelings in them. That they were beautiful. It won't have that effect on everyone—hell, it won't have it on most people. But, at the very least, I made one person feel something beautiful with my writing. I know that. And is that not what this is all about? As long as I can make one person feel, maybe it's all worth it after all. I will keep calling myself a writer. I won't give up. And I guarantee, you reading this right now have the ability to make people feel too, no matter what. Be strong, friend. I will be rooting for you. I want to share that special fragment of mine with you all. It's out of context, given that it's from chapter 9 of a novel, but I think it can mostly stand on its own. One crucial piece of worldbuilding first: The main trait this fantasy world has is that its two continents (gigantic floating islands/landmasses) are situated in such a way that the one on top (the "highlands") block most of the light/sky for the residents of the one below (the "lowlands"), which is where our POV character currently is, going through some magical trial or other (you'll see!) Without further ado, here's said piece of writing. I hope at least one of you out there who randomly came across this post enjoys it :]

Leiden looked up. The base of the highlands couldn't be more than a couple dozen paces away. From so up close it felt even more oppressive than usual. He noticed a second plaque, inlaid in the roof of the tower, where he was standing. There was more to the trial, as he suspected. After reading its contents, however, he felt confused. ‘I'm glad to see you make it here. Your task is simple: Feast upon the beauty of the sky.’ He looked up again. It would be hard to feast upon what wasn't there. If he looked to the sides, he could just barely make out the thin lines of sky visible beyond the highlands. It didn't feel like enough to exactly feast upon. For the sake of trying something, he lied down with his back to the stone. He had enjoyed cloud watching, back when he was above. Even though there were only rocks on top of him, he wrapped his hands behind his head, and tried to remember the feeling of admiring the sky. He closed his eyes and pictured a summer afternoon, with an open sky decorated by a few lonely clouds. What was the point of this trial? Maybe it had once been possible to see the sky from here. Had the highlands not always been above the lowlands? Perhaps it was all part of the trial. Slowly, those complicated thoughts ran out of steam, and Leiden became fully involved in his personal sky, and his little clouds. It was nice. It had been a while since he'd felt like he could afford to take a moment to just relax. He saw shapes of all kinds in the clouds, as they swirled and morphed and danced with the wind. Sometimes the sun peeked from behind, bathing him in rays of light. He realized there was no need to limit himself to one kind of sky. A wave of darkness swept over the azure background, and small brilliant dots started to cover the sea of black. The moon stood out amongst them all, shining with borrowed light. It seemed larger than usual, like it was stretching to cover Leiden's view to the fullest extent it was capable of. For a moment, within himself, Leiden stopped feeling alone as he became part of a whole. He was a blade of grass, swaying in the dirt, surrounded by acres of grassy fields. He was a star, shining with the endless power of the sun; a speck, part of a map of dots where each one represented wonders beyond a human’s capability to understand. He was everything, and yet he was nothing at all. It was a realization that often eluded a species defined by their willingness to work against nature. What separates a human from an eagle, soaring through the clouds; or an ant, working hard for the good of its colony? What makes us so different from a flower, helping the bee produce its food in exchange for having their lineage continued? Are we so different from a gust of wind, ephemeral in its passing, yet meaningful all the same? Leiden felt like a mote of dust, suspended in a beam of light. Visible only as long as the sun shined, yet always there. He floated in the air, no longer supported by the steady stone beneath him. Well done, child, a voice said. He was so surprised by the voice that he snapped out of his daydreaming. He opened his eyes and realized that he really was floating—or he had been, until the free fall started.

Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read it. It means a lot. I would love to hear what more people think of it. I'm still severely lacking as a writer, but I'm proud of it. It's more poetic than what I usually produce. That's all for today, friends. I hope you have a wonderful day. Good luck on your writing endeavors! We'll make it through, together <3

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ohnomytummy · 1 year ago

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Hi, I have a story from this Thanksgiving that I thought this community would like, and I don't have a kink blog to post it to so I'm gonna share it here cause I know your box is always open. Lol

I'm relatively thin, severely underweight for a good chunk of my childhood, have always been poor so I've never gotten to indulge too much in feasting, not in this economy. But long backstory short, I had the house to myself for pretty much 4 days straight for Thanksgiving break, along with all the leftover food from the entire family thanksgiving.. I was asked to toss most of it because we didn't have room in the fridge and it would go bad, but I didn't want any of it to go to waste.. you can probably tell where his is going..

I have a pretty sensitive stomach since I get full pretty quick, and I'm also lactose intolerant and most meat makes me gassy (and sweaty for some reason?), but for some reason none of that mattered to me, I put a YouTube series I've been itching to watch on my phone and munched on everything that was in front of me which included:

-almost half of a turkey that had been sitting out on the table for a day

-a platter of cheese and cube/slice things and pepperoni/some other meat I forgot

-I wanna say maybe 20 small sugar cookies (the puffy Walmart ones with frosting)

-about 2 litres total of a miz of lemonade, sprite, ginger ale, and coca cola

- 5 bread rolls with melted cheese and butter

-uncounted handfuls old candy I still had from Halloween....

I didn't even realize I'd been eating so much, but I guess since it was all over the course of about a day (9 hours-ish?) It was gradual enough that I didn't realize I'd gone overboard until the end. I remember reaching for the next thing getting ready and thinking "wow i wonder how much ive eaten" and seeing that the answer was all of it. I was wearing an elastic tank top, and I looked down and holy shit I looked pregnant. The tank top is kind of long but there was maybe an inch of belly sticking out from underneath naturally, and the tank top itself was like vacuum sealed tight to my skin!

This is where stuff gets crazy. I put my hand on my stomach to rub it and I could feel it churning under my hand, from the inside ofc and through my belly. I'd been burping throughout the whole stuffing absent-mindedly, but now that it was all setting in, I felt like I was going to puke. I couldn't even feel nauseous at first, it was just PAIN in my middle and I could barely get up. I'm so glad I was alone because I was moaning and rubbing my belly with both hands, holding it as I tried to get up. I could feel myself bringing up burps with every exhale, they were like.. soft and quiet but also really deep and sick, coming out with every breath, like "... urrrrrrp.. hic-hurrrrrp... uurppp. ur-urrp... hic-hUuuurrrrrrrrrp..." and with groans after each one lmao. I made my way to the bathroom eventually and sat by the toilet, sure I was gonna be sick, but I wasn't. I almost wanted to be, but I think I was just too scared to puke. So I sat back against the tub, facing the toilet, my whole body was covered in a cold sweat atp and i was rubbing my belly, and I could feel every single rumble as it ripped through my stomach and rose up as a belch. I couldn't stop burping like I was just about crying on the bathroom floor, bloated as a tick, belching helplessly. After a few minutes the burps started slowing down, but they were much more wet when they did come up. I think the meat and lactose was probably digesting now because I actually started to feel queasy. I started holding in my burps in fear that the food might come up, but then the air started xoming out the back. Starting with small short toots, leading to nauseous farts that, much like the burps, WOULDNT STOP. I was uncontrollably farting, small short bursts every few seconds and idk how to describe it but the farts felt pukey somehow. My stomach was churning like crazy and I could hear it from the outside (still felt intense as I rubbed it too). All the while the original belches never really stopped, so I was just on the floor, gas from both ends pouring out. My stomach was so hard and tight it felt like a bowling ball attached to me and my shirt was so tight it was so hot in hindsight but I felt like I was dying in the moment. Anyways I eventually fell asleep on the floor, woke up feeling sick, burped and farted next to the toilet again and tried doing the doggy-style yoga pose (best that I could, anyways, with my bloated upset tummy still filled with rotting undigested Thanksgiving leftovers) and kept farting until out of nowhere I almost shat myself, I think the position I was in moved the air along but the air took some stuff with it, so now I had to abandon that and sit on the toilet with a trash bin next to me because I couldn't fit it between my legs (my tummy took up the room lol) and it was mostly just me being sick from both ends, along with super uncontrollable rumbly burps and farts that just would not ever fucking stop.

Once it was all out things went back to normal, other than me being really gassy for a few more days.

I will let my uh *cough* community have this 😳��

#thanksgiving #ask #wowowowowowoeow #your poor poor belly #but also not….whoopsie

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lucien0501 · 2 months ago

Text

LETTERS (Wolfstar Oneshot)

Summary: Letters from Sirius Black to Remus Lupin from Azkaban. He isn’t allowed to send the letters so they’re only one sided, which definitely makes it sad. There are a few mentions of fun past Marauders moments/pranks!:) Harry Potter Marauders Fandom

Note: I do not support the views of the author (I am a trans person so....no🤬) but I love these very gay characters so much that I had to write about them!

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Hints of mental instability, losing memories because of dementors, definite angst, mentions of Lily and James’ death, brief mentions of sex, swearing, Sirius’ hate for Peter Pettigrew, death threats towards Peter Pettigrew, and overall kind tragic because Sirius is stuck in Azkaban. Let me know if I missed any!!

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Moons

I'm not sure why I'm writing to you--we're not allowed to send or receive post from Azkaban, but you know that already. You always seem to know everything, you're smart as hell.

I'm not going to waste parchment explaining everything, I already spend too much time rehearsing what I'm going to say. Lily and James, Remus. I still can't make myself believe it, I'm not sure I want to.

I want to ask you not to forget about me, not to believe I'm a traitor. No, that's a lie. I want to ask you to wait for me. I'll come back to you one day, I promise. It’s selfish of me, to hope you won't move on. But I've always been a selfish bastard, you know that too.

I can't remember your eyes, Remus. Or your laugh. I try, every day to conjure you up from my memories, but the Dementors are slowly sucking you from my mind, one day at a time. I'm terrified of losing you--our years at Hogwarts, for good. I'm scared that one day I won't remember what you taste like, your oversized jumpers, the sounds you make when you come. I love you, Remus, and the Dementors prey on love, it's a feast to them.

But they can't take away my hate, my need for revenge. I fucking hate him, I hate him I hate himIhatehimIhate--

Pads

Moony

Do you remember the time we shagged on the big couch in the common room and James found out? He was so disgusted he didn't sit there till Christmas.

Do you remember the time that we all got drunk and played Seven Minutes In Heaven and I charmed the spinner so I'd get you? That was our first kiss. I remember.

Then there was that time that we slipped Snivellus a potion that turned his hair pink for a week. We thought it was the most brilliant thing we'd ever done. Did he retaliate? I'm not sure anymore.

Remember when we snuck out to Hogsmeade through the secret passage and almost ran into Professor McGonagall? Did we get caught? I don't remember.

I'm trying to remember. I have to remember

Padfoot

Rem

Half my bloody family is in here, you know. It makes for a wonderful reunion, lots of cursing and threats of murder-- just like old times!

I wonder if my parents are proud of me now, after what they think I did. After what everyone thinks I did.

I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry for all of it, for the way I must have hurt you. I wish I could actually send these letters and wish I could talk to you again. Just for a few minutes.

There are so many things I should have done differently. So many things.

Sirius

Remus

I wonder where you are, now? What you're doing?

It's been five years now, for all I know you could be dead or married or finally realized you're better off without me. I wouldn't blame you for the last one.

That thought haunts me every day, that I'll get out of here and I'll find you and you'll say that you've moved on and none of it matters now.

Cause I will find you. I'm getting out of here, one day.

Sirius

This will be my last letter, I'm almost out of parchment and there's no way in hell they'll bring me more. Maybe I'll write on the walls to keep myself from going mad.

I'm so sorry for everything that I did. For everything that I failed to do. I never told you enough how much I loved you and now it's too late.

I'm going to get out of here, I promise. I have to.

I'm going to kill him, fucking rip him apart with my bare hands, damn my wand.

And then I'm going to find you. And everything is going to be alright because then I'll be in your arms.

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real-fire-emblem-takes · 2 months ago

Note

going here because i have a post cooking about this but it isnt ready yet. anyway, FEHs writing has fucked over a lot of characters but i will genuinely never forgive them for KAREL especially. like hoooly shit dude. masterclass in scooping out every interesting/compelling piece of his character in fe7 out with a spoon and turning out another murder memeslop character like what happened with henry in awakening's peak. i will admit his penchant for gay innuendo in heroes is very funny but thats not the point rn.

this is part of a wider issue i have with general Discussion about FE7 karel really but its just... incredibly bizarre in heroes especially. as a whole he's written to be a fair bit more outwardly aggressive than he is in FE7 (the fact he all but threatens to kill the summoner for no real reason multiple times is esp bonkers to me considering the parallels you can draw to how he acts towards both mark and lucius, neither of whom he's all that nasty with relatively speaking), and for some reason they also really hone in on the mentions he makes of the "feast" in pale flower of darkness... which is the only time he ever makes any use of the term in his home game. exactly twice at that. but it's all he can talk about in heroes? it is bizarre.

and like. i don't know. it's genuinely very sad to me that any trace of the kindness and gentleness he shows to lucius and karla especially is just Gone. and for what reason? genuinely, why? his level 40 quote is so strange for this reason because making it essentially a rehash of his A support with lucius wouldve been the easiest shit in the world and i would've been fine with it. but nah, we get. checks notes. a conversation where karel threatens to kill the summoner again. for no real reason?

i'm realizing now this is getting really long for a tumblr ask on a half-shitpost blog, so i apologize. it's just a topic i get very passionate about very quickly. TLDR: When i get that fucking owl.

#game hate #fe7 #fire emblem blazing sword #karel fire emblem #fe #fire emblem

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thewriterthatghostedyou · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter Two

Hey guys, I meant to post this yesterday but completely forgot after all of my classes and Halloween activities. Lol. Either way I hope you enjoy! The next chapters for this will be released weekly on Fridays.

Word count: 3173

Warnings: slight language

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

You scoffed slightly as you watched a flock of ladies run ahead of you to the great hall giggling and gossiping as they went. Their frivolous desires that you once shared, seemed to pale in comparison to the duties you had to attend to. You sigh wistfully, wishing that you still enjoyed things as trivial as dresses and gossip.

“I heard the King isn’t going to remarry!” A lady with dark brown hair spoke, fanning herself slightly.

“Truly?” Another lady asked, eyes wide.

“That means Aemond will be king one day.” The first girl snapped her hand held fan in her hands open before fanning towards her overexposed bosoms. “And I plan on being Queen.”

“But doesn’t it bother you that he brought his bastard and mistress to the keep?” A brunette chimed in nervously twisting her skirts in her hands. “I mean the shame of it alone makes me lean more towards Prince Daeron.”

The first lady scoffed loudly and placed her delicate hands on her hips. “I couldn’t give a damn how many mistresses he has now. When I’m Queen they’ll be sent away within a fortnight. He’ll only need me anyway.”

You shook your head ever so slightly, but froze as the proud lady shot you an unexpected smile. “Your dress looks lovely, was it made in the capital?”

You stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected question and ran your fingers through the silky folds in the gown and felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Uh- yes I had it hand tailored by a woman named Myranda.”

“Well you simply must tell me more after the feast tonight, I must confess I’m a bit behind on the capital’s fashions. A sad side effect of being holed up in Rain House for the past few years that I plan on fixing.” The other ladies seemed to flock around her magnetic personality, and you found yourself giving her a genuine smile as she looped her arm in yours.

“I would be delighted to.” You replied politely, as the proud woman led you deeper into the main throne room, leaving behind the ladies that had fawned over her before.

The imposing room had been reconfigured to allow for four long tables the length of the room to be placed and all four tables were filled with food that made your mouth water. There were roasted ducks, platters full of quail, and even a large slab of venison on each of the tables all surrounded by leafy green vegetables and broths that had steam rise from them. You particularly were looking forward to the spiced mutton that had a lovely splash of cinnamon and nutmeg. Although you did notice that there was a notable absence of suckling pigs that had you curious.

There was also a large band of musicians that were crooning songs about brave knights that wore the color green. You tried not to grimace as you and the other lady passed them, but felt your legs turn stiff as you realized that she was leading you towards the Master of Laws and Prince Aemond. Although you had never seen the man before his unmistakable eye patch was enough of a clue to his identity.

“Father!” The dark haired woman said cheerfully as she inserted you and her into the conversion that Lord Wylde was having with Prince Aemond and a few other lords that you didn’t recognize.

“And here is my daughter, Lady Carina Wylde, as I was telling you, your grace. Although I must confess that her companion's name escapes me.”

“Lady Y/n Caswell, I believe.” A strained voice answered before you had the chance to, and you felt the blood rush from your face as you were face to face with Daeron. Your heart was beating so loudly that you thought that the group could hear it, or perhaps just you as it muffled your hearing.

You could barely make out a fat lord laughing loudly due to the ringing in your ears as the conversation quickly flowed away from you for the moment.

The lady beside you, Carina, was looking at you sadly, her perfect eyebrows arched in a way that seemed wrong on her porcelain face. You felt multiple eyes on you as your mouth became sandy at the sight of the man who murdered your family.

You jolted back into consciousness as Carina’s arm lightly tapped your side, and you shot her a small, grateful look, the nearby sounds of the feast returning to their normal pitch. “Yes, my prince. I am she.”

The youngest of the Targaryen siblings swallowed slightly as he looked at you. His own pale face seemingly paler if possible. While his older brother gave you an appraising look. “Ah yes, the traitor’s daughter.” He gave a cruel smirk as both you and Daeron looked anywhere but at the other. “It’s a wonder you were included in my mother’s little ‘wife hunt.’”

“An interesting perspective on the festivities my prince. If not a tad pessimistic.” You looked over to the hooded figure besides Daeron, his face completely covered by the silk cloth.

Aemond hummed slightly, taking a long sip of his wine and eyeing Carina with interest, his gaze on you forgotten. “Well I suppose you’d feel as such, Tyland, after all you are in search of your own wife are you not?”

The name he spoke connected the pieces you could not place as you realized that this was the Master of Coin. The same man the Queen had tortured near endlessly in pursuit of the Crown’s gold.

Although the Lannister line was already secured with Lord Jason’s son as the new lord, you didn’t consider Tyland as a suitable husband. He may be a second son, but as the Master of Coin his position would keep you in the capital. A place that had too many memories of that you would rather forget.

“Perhaps I may have to take advantage of all of the eligible young ladies in attendance.” Another lord cut in and you fought the urge to cringe. He seemed to be as old as the Iron Throne itself and far too old for anyone in attendance.

To your disgust, this remark earned a laugh from all the men present except for Daeron who seemed sullen and quiet, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you.

A younger man with an easy smile, closer to your age waved over a servant carrying a tray of goblets. “Well regardless of the circumstances you must try the arbor red, my ladies!” He handed both you and Carina a glass with a smile. “After all, the crown is paying for it tonight. Aren’t they, cousin?” He nudged Daeron softly with his elbow, and the younger man shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in.

“Ah, yes indeed! My brother must have bought out all the wine in the city for the festivities.” He scoffed with a laugh. “We might as well enjoy it!”

Aemond rolled his eye at the remark, but said nothing as a few of the other lords began to converse. You shifted uncomfortably from side to side as the group split into smaller groups, seemingly already acquainted with each other. You squeezed your cup tightly, your knuckles turning white at the gesture as you looked around for Carina, only to find her and her father talking with Aemond and Daeron.

Although disappointed at the sudden departure of the kind woman, it was the perfect opportunity for you to mingle with the surrounding lords and ladies. And more importantly to escape the somber gaze that the younger prince kept shooting you. A task easier said than done as you scanned the room for any that may be open to a stranger butting into their conversation.

“At least I am not the only one who does not seem to know anyone else.” A smooth voice came from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound, your wine sloshing slightly out of your glass. Although you miraculously seemed to not spill any despite the sudden jolt.

“Oh! My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to startle you.” You released a small laugh at your jumpiness before answering the young men in front of you. His young face had a slight blush dusting his cheeks as he reached out to steady you. Your own face felt as if it were on fire as you took in his handsome features and light blonde curls that crowned his head.

“No, it’s my fault, my lord, I must have been too preoccupied in my own thoughts.” You apologized profusely. “Although I do have to agree with your earlier statement.”

The young man smiled kindly at you before leaning in closely. “I suppose that is due to where our houses were aligned in the war.” He whispered softly, seemingly choosing his next words carefully but you understood the message. Whoever he was, his house, and most likely himself, supported Rhaenyra’s claim.

“Oh gods, am I that obvious to everyone?” You joked quietly, taking a small sip of the sweetened wine.

The man shrugged. “I don’t believe so, but to be fair I think I’m the only one truly sober enough to notice.”

You giggled slightly before returning your cup to a nearby servant. “Well as another mostly sober guest I would like to introduce myself. My name is Y/n Caswell.”

The young man’s dark purple eyes lightened up at your last name as took your hand and gently laid a kiss to it. “Well met, my lady. I am Alton Celtigar.”

That explained the purple eyes. Most likely a remnant of his own Valryian ancestry. You certainly seemed to find yourself gravitating towards Valryians. “You are Lord Clement’s brother.” Your mind conjured an image of a tall imposing man, with similar purple eyes who had been in the capital the same time you were.

“I am indeed.” Alton spun a golden ring around his finger as he spoke. “He spoke highly of your composure at court, although he seemed to leave out tales of your beauty as well.”

You snorted softly before stopping yourself. You could almost feel your septa’s switch slapping your knuckles at such an unladylike action. “My apologies, I just- That was a bit-” You carefully thought on how to word yourself while laughing slightly.

“Too much?” Alton finished for you with a rich laugh of his own. “You must forgive me, I do not have the privilege of speaking to many women while at Claw Isle, I tend to avoid these things in all honesty.” He gestured around at the feast and dancing that was occurring. “My brother; however, insisted that I join him.”

“Well, overdramatic flattery aside, I am glad you came.” You found yourself being honest as you realized that you had been smiling long enough to make your cheeks hurt. Something that you had not done in a long time. “If feasts are not your interest then I must ask: what is?” You suddenly heard the chattering of several women and turned your head slightly to see what the commotion was about, only to look back at the man in front of you when you realized that the One-Eyed Prince and his younger brother were positively swarmed with young women trying to make an impression.

“I enjoy sailing. Although I am partial to hunting as well.” Alton replied, scoffing at the sight of the two Princes surrounded. “It appears that our hosts spent more time training with a sword rather than how to dodge power hungry ladies.”

You giggled again at that before joining in. “I fear blood may be drawn before they take one of them to the dance floor.” At the sound of your laughter, Aemond looked over at you and seemed interested in your proximity with the young Celtigar before returning to gaze at the throng of women around him.

“Speaking of, would you do me the honor of taking to the floor?” Alton offered his hand to you with a shy smile and you took it gladly. “Although I must warn you I am not the most proficient in dancing, you may want to guard your toes.”

You blushed as you felt his warm hand hold yours and followed him closely to the open floor in front of the throne. There were only married couples dancing as the eligible women were surrounding the princes and the single men were drinking themselves towards an early grave. And you and Alton lined up next to them as a cheery jig started to play.

Allowing memory to take over you, you hopped in tune with all of the steps, twirling quickly around your partner you managed to follow the male part’s lead well. Although his steps were clumsy compared to your fluid ones, made second nature by years of practice, the two of you were smiling and laughing happily, enjoying the moment.

“You must tell me more about the Claw Isle!” You huffed out of breath, holding his arm gently as you swayed to the slower tune that had replaced the faster dance.

“I’m afraid that there is not much to tell.” Alton said, breathing as heavily as you, but still in high spirits as he twirled you around. “The Isle itself is small, but I suppose the water is what makes it so special.” The two of you chatted softly as Prince Aemond took Carina to the floor and Daeron followed shortly after with a Peake girl.

You found yourself relaxing in Alton’s presence, and conversation flowed easily between you both. Perhaps the gods had decided to show you their favor for once. Alton was a second son from a good family and logistically would make a good husband for you. But there were also the butterflies that brushed against your stomach as he looked at you that had you considering him as much as you were. You did not think that you would feel it again after Jace, but instead of feeling guilty you knew he was proud of you for pursuing happiness. You were about to begin your third dance in a row with him when a low voice cleared itself from behind you.

“My prince.” Alton said respectfully, bowing slightly and you followed curtsying as well as Aemond made himself known.

“Lord Celtigar.” He said with a forced smile that made your skin crawl. “You seem to be quite taken with Lady Caswell.” He noted and you noticed Carina looking at the three of you from a distance with her father.

“Well, she is a wonderful young lady and-” Alton was interrupted as the prince huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Although I do suppose that makes sense, what with you both being…” He paused slightly. “‘Reformed’ traitors to the crown I’m sure you have much in common.”

You felt your heart race as Aemond stepped closer. “I do hope you think about how that may look to my brother. Lady Caswell,” He turned to you and grabbed your hand firmly, “You must do me the honor of a dance. I do not wish to miss out on what has captivated Lord Celtigar and my bastard nephew so much.” You flinched slightly at the mention of Jace but followed Aemond reluctantly as he dragged you away from Alton who shot you a somber glance before retreating into the crowds.

As the next song began, a slower ballad, Aemond placed his hands on your hips, much lower than Alton had and led you through the steps. You felt your face set on fire again, but for the wrong reason as he leaned in closer.

While your dance with Altan had been full of hushed conversation and comfortable glances, your dance with Aemond was cold and polite and the two of you were silent until he spoke. “I must confess I’m disappointed.” He said finally, sliding his hand up your back in a way that felt too intimate for an unmarried couple. “I expected more from you.”

“I do not know what you mean, my prince.” You said politely, looking at the surrounding festivities instead of him.

“Well you were all too willing to whore yourself out to my nephew for a crown. I assumed you would try the same again with me.”

You slipped out a derisive laugh at that, unable to stop yourself and earning a glare from the prince. “I didn’t agree to marry Jace for a crown, I did it because I loved him.”

Aemond’s face curved into a cruel smile as he looked down at you. “How sweet. And look what that love got him. Floating dead in the bottom of the gullet.”

Your chest rose quickly as you stared at Aemond, barely containing your anger at his mock sympathetic words. Your fear being the only thing stopping you from yelling at the man.

“And you, still unmarried. How sad.” His eyes glinted in sick enjoyment as you focused on calming your breathing.

“A matter I plan to fix soon.” You declared, once again looking to the side instead of at Aemond. ‘Gods how long was this fucking song?’ You wondered in your head as the bard droned on longer and longer.

“As flattering as your affections are, I'm only indulging you for appearance’s sake.” Aemond sneered, gripping your wrist tightly as he leaned closer to your ear. “And I have no interest in my bastard nephew’s spoils.”

You let out another laugh at that and stepped back from his hold, giving yourself space. “I’m heartbroken, my prince, truly.” You replied sarcastically. “Although I had no such interest in your hand, but I am sure that the other ladies at court will be all too happy to have you to themselves.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked slightly at that as the song finally came to a close and you sighed in relief. “Well if it is such an inconvenience to accompany me on the floor you will simply hate joining me tomorrow in the family box.” You gave him a confused scowl as he spoke about tomorrow’s joust as if you were to join him. “Daeron and I are allowed a guest each and I think you have some unresolved issues to fix with my brother.”

You felt your hands grow damp and shake in rage as he continued. “That is a wonderful honor, Prince Aemond; however, I am not worthy of such a gesture. There are-”

“You will join me tomorrow to watch the joust, Lady Caswell.” Aemond shot you a smirk as he regained control of the situation again. “I will see you on the morrow.” He said decidedly before placing a slow kiss to the top of your hand before departing as quickly as he had appeared.

Feeling a familiar wave of powerlessness wash over you, you turned away and took to your seat at the long tables, hoping to avoid any further conversation for the night. Perhaps the gods did not favor you after all.

Tag list 🏷️

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#fanfic #reader insert #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #dark aemond x reader #hotd #dark aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #dark aemond targaryen x reader

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futurepastme · 6 months ago

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Gaius and Merlin have dinner and talk about Uther

Just because I haven't really posted anything Merlin lately, (I think) here's a little scene with Gaius (not merthur for once yet):

Merlin was about to go back to read more about some spells he had marked as ‘must learn,’ when he heard the door to the physician’s chambers opening. He waited before leaving his room - he was off duty and didn’t really want to see anyone - until he heard the characteristic sound of Gaius’ cauldron going into the fire, only then he left to the main chambers with his new treasure of a book in hand.

Gaius had half of his body leaning over the cauldron, mixing their dinner - porridge, probably - with a long wood spoon. Merlin watched him work on it for a while before removing the spoon and tapping it on the cauldron’s edge to make sure there was nothing left on it. Gaius turned around and gave a little jump of surprise upon finding his nephew staring at him.

“Good God, my boy, are you trying to get me killed?”

“Never! You’re the one that cooks dinner, If I caused your death I’d starve.” He smiled at Gaius as the old man shook his head.

Gaius went around the room collecting the books he was using earlier that morning, putting them on a neat pile before heading to the bookshelf.

“So, long meeting, wasn’t it?” Merlin drifted back to his earlier place at the table, setting his book on top of it and looking at Gaius’ white head of hair as he worked on putting the books away. He saw him shake his head.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into Uther this time, but I fear it is nothing good.”

“I heard he’s inviting a bunch of kings to this week’s feast?”

Gaius turned around, the one eyebrow of disapproval raised. “And where, pray tell, did you came upon this information?’’

“I made George tell me.” Merlin answered with a sheepish smile.

Gaius shook his head again, this time glaring at Merlin, and walked back to the cauldron now that he was finished with the books. “It’s wrong anyway,” he stirred it a little bit before reaching for a pot, filling it with a spoonful. “Uther cancelled this week’s feast. Should be announced to the rest of the castle first thing in the morning.”

Merlin stood up and began setting two seats at the table so they could eat. “That’s good then, if he’s no longer receiving the kings, I mean.” He filled two goblets with the drinking water they had in a jar, and sat down at his place. Gaius marched to join him, holding two pots of porridge for them.

“Ha!” Gaius sat the pots with more strength than usual making them clank, “If only! He has postponed it to the end of the month.” Gaius satdown and picked up his spoon then pointed it at Merlin, using it to emphasize his words. “He didn’t clarify what exactly it is that he wants to discuss with the kings, he kept calling it the Peace Convention.” He shook his head again. “I’m worried.”

Merlin sighed, “Does he not recall what happened the last time? I bet King Alined still wants war, and King Olaf must still be angry with Arthur, I mean, Princess Vivian was still enchanted to be in love with him when they left.”

Gaius shook his head again with quick movements while still eating, when he was done swallowing he answered “I don’t know what goes on Uther’s head these days, Merlin.”

Merlin scraped off the rest of his dinner with the spoon, he hadn’t realized how starved he had been, and stood up to have his seconds.

“You should ask Arthur about it, Uther kept him in the room after dismissing the council.”

“Arthur’s still there?” He sat down with his now refilled pot and went back to eating. “Great, he’s going to be insufferable in the morning. What could Uther possibly want with him after a whole day?”

“After the normal meeting subjects, Uther spent most of the afternoon trying to convince the council to receive the dignities at this week’s feast, it took us a long time to convince him otherwise.” Gaius finished his pot and stood up to get his own seconds. “Whatever is he wanted with Arthur, he either didn’t have a chance to bring it up this evening, or just didn’t want the rest of the council to intervene with more of his plans.”

Gaius sat back at the table to start his seconds, while Merlin rested his head on his hands after finishing his own. Both men kept quiet for a while, lost in their own minds as Gaius finished his dinner.

“Anything interesting in that book of yours?” Gaius changed the subject, and with the memory of the new spells he would be able to learn, Merlin smiled, ready to give him an answer.

He didn’t have a chance to, though, as they heard the characteristic Rat-tat-tat of knocking on the door.

“Come in.” Merlin said, as Gaius was still chewing.

The door opened to reveal a tired-looking George, he greeted them both with a nod before turning to address Merlin. “Prince Arthur has summoned you, Merlin.”

Merlin let a little sigh fall from his mouth, frustrated with the interruption - he really wanted to talk with Gaius about the book - as he stood up, headed to join George at the door. “Thank you, George.” He stopped midway to glance one last time to Gaius, his dirty dishes - cleaning them was his task, as Gaius always cooked dinner - and his book.

“Go see what the prince needs.” Gaius dismissed him with a wave and a nod. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded goodbye and joined George, closing the door behind them.

☽♚☾

#bbc merlin #merlinfic #merlinficlet #merlin #gaius #george

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 1 year ago

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The Divine Feminine II - Welcome to Hell (Sneak Peek)

Guuuuuys I was supposed to post this for Halloween but could not finish it since I had a busy weekend and then a busy workday today! However, here is a sneak peek! Hopefully I can finish writing it in the next few days and post it all!

Read: The Divine Feminine** - Amidst his sadness after his wife leaves the Underworld, Hades (Harry) encounters a human woman who brings him to his knees.

No warnings for the sneak peek:)

WC: 1.1k

“You’re everything.” He mumbled against her ear and she tangled their fingers together, “Wish you could be with me forever.” He sighed.

This made her smile. Y/N had never really felt like she had a place in the world. She had always struggled to fit in, to find a place in it where she felt like belonged completely, maybe she wasn’t meant for this earth? But she had no idea what Harry’s world was like. She was curious, but she also realized that in order to be down there she’d have to die and she didn’t want to die. Not yet at least. There were so many things that she still wanted to do and experience…like tornado chase, travel to Europe, or see her favorite band live at least once. As much as she had grown to love him, he was Hades. He transcended time, he was the god of the underworld. He was the ruler of the afterlife, the highest judge in the universe, at the end of their life every single being answered to him for the way they’d spent their time. He was justice. He was vengeance. He was a god. It baffled her that a being as simple and fragile as her could even catch his eye.

“You shouldn’t think so highly of me, love.” He spoke quietly and she smiled.

“And why not?” She inquired.

“You’ll make me too arrogant.”

“As if you needed any help with that.” She quipped with a grin and he swatted the side of her thigh quickly and she giggled. "You should stop hearing my thoughts." she reminded him.

“I want to show you my world. Everything that I can offer you whenever you’re ready to join me.” He said, completely ignoring her little reminder because of course he was going to continue reading her thoughts.

“What if I’m old and gray by then?” She questioned and he squeezed her tighter.

“I can become old and gray too or restore you to whatever age you desire to be.” He said and she hummed.

“That’s fascinating.”

“It is.” He agreed, “You know, there’s…a spell that can grant you temporary immortality. I could learn more about it and perform it on you, that way you can see everything there is to see.”

“Hmmm… a vacation to hell? Sounds nice.” She said teasingly and he chuckled and kissed her bare shoulder.

“S’paradise too, you know?” He said.

“I thought that was Olympus.”

“No, that’s where most of the other deities live.” He explained and she hummed in understanding.

“Is it dangerous? The spell?” She asked.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to consult Hecate, she’s one of the goddesses that also dwells in the underworld. That’s her area. We can weigh out the pros and cons together.”

“Alright, it’s worth looking into I think.” She decided, “And what about your wife? The first day of Autumn is just two days away.” She pointed out and he hummed.

“I’ll talk to her. Tell her about you. I think she’ll be glad that I’ve found someone other than her to keep me happy.”

***********

Every time Persephone made her descent back to the realm of the Underworld Hades would throw a bash for her. It was an absolute lavish feast and everyone was a huge part of it, Admittedly, Hades had been very distracted with his favorite, little human so he only had two days to plan this feast whereas before he encountered Y/N, he’d begin planning at least a month in advance. As soon as Hades arrived back in his realm one of his fellow deities conjured themselves.

“Are we having the feast or not?” Thanatos asked.

“Yes. I know I’ve been gone a lot-”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got it. The dead remain dead, all is in order.” He assured his friend and Hades smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You deserve this. You never have your fun.” He said and Hades chuckled.

“Let’s ummm, make this feast more intimate, yeah?”

“Alright.”

“And ummm, let’s search through Elysium and the Meadows for some musicians. Just the better ones.” Hades said and Thanatos nodded.

“Nyx and Erebos did start setting up the great hall in their home a few days ago.”

“And your brother?”

“Wandering about the world. After you were gone more than a week he also took a leave. We shouldn’t count on him for any of this.” Thanatos said of Hypnos.

“Alright, fair enough.” Hades chuckled.

“I must tell you, Persephone is a bit…unsettled.” Thanatos warned.

“Why?”

“Hecate overheard Eros bragging about “striking the ruler of the underworld with his arrow to fall in love with a human”. Boastful little prick…” he huffed and Hades sighed, “Ever eager to gossip, Hecate mentioned this to Persephone, or so I’ve been told by Hermes.” Thanatos explained.

“Unbelievable.”

“I told them it was just Eros being a prick. We all know how bitter he still is over Persephone’s rejection all those millennia ago…”

“Can I be honest?” Hades said and Thanatos nodded.

“Of course.”

“He’s not just being a boastful prick…I think he succeeded.” Thanatos was shocked to hear this.

Anyone who knew the pair knew that the one with an unwavering and undying devotion in this marriage was Hades. He never even thought to gaze upon another being. And anyone who knew Persephone knew that despite her mostly pleasant and benevolent manner, she had inherited the jealously and wrath of her father, Zeus. She could be cold and senseless in her wrath. Hades knew this and it worried him for Y/N.

“If what you say is true then your human is in danger.” Thanatos said solemnly.

**********

Hades had been unsettled after his conversation with Thanatos. He had mentioned to Y/N that he would be rather busy until Persephone’s return and she fully understood this, but he needed someone to protect her from any possible attacks that his wife might hurl at the unsuspecting and fragile human who had his heart.

Typically he would call on his own wife or Hecate when something or something required the utmost protection, but these two were the ones who’d been consorting all summer long and likely had turned against him to some extent. Persephone was reasonable, maybe he could convince her to not harm Y/N. But what worried him was that she was all alone on earth without anyone there to guard her. Hades wasn’t all that excellent in his practice of spells, but he did find himself at his altar, performing a spell for Soteria - the spirit of deliverance and protection - for Y/N. Being Hades, the spirit realm was always more susceptible to his wishes. And it gave him peace to know that his offering was accepted.

#hades!harry styles #hades!harry #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles au #supernatural!harry styles #boss! harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry x y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harryween #0nlythrowharrybeaux

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 8 months ago

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What To Do When They Dig You Up, Part 1

okokok, so I got inspired by this super fucked up (affectionate) fic by @tavina-writes, and with permission, I decided to start on a sequel. I'm posting it in chunks as I finish them in hopes that it will be enough to make me, you know, actually make it to the end of this thing.

warnings: past branding and abuse, ptsd and panic attacks, discussion of fucked up self-image, public humiliation.

---------------

“You don’t want to be here today,” Meng Yao murmurs as he guides Nie Huaisang out of the throne room, leaving their mutual master pacing in front of the throne with a sharp grin like a tiger expecting a feast.

‘What could possibly be different about today compared to any other?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

The hallway is colder than usual, making his face and wrists and back throb hot, and he sinks into the pain, barely aware of Meng Yao’s gentle hands on his shoulders and the act of putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s not until Meng Yao lets him go and opens a door that he realizes he has not been taken back to his master’s bedroom.

“Yao-ge?” he asks, and his voice sounds as alien to his own ears as the chill of the hall.

Meng Yao presses his mouth into a thin line, glancing back the way they came. “A-Sang,” he says carefully, having long stopped calling him ‘Gongzi’ because hearing the old title had made him retch more than once. “Do you trust me?”

‘What kind of question is that?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

Nowadays, Meng Yao is always the one who puts him back together after his master takes him apart. The ebb to the flow, the pull to the push, the carrot to the stick.

Nie Huaisang does not know the rules to this new variant of the game he has been trapped playing ever since his escape failed.

He has never asked either, afraid that his one respite will be stripped away, either by Meng Yao reporting on him or simply by his master’s whim.

At least Meng Yao seems to realize that he has pressed a raw nerve, because he shakes his head a little. “Nevermind. Just… stay here for now, alright? Will you do that for me?”

Nie Huaisang manages to nod and steps into the room, and the door swishes and clicks closed behind him.

The room is sparse on furniture, and still cold.

He is starting to wonder if the cold is part of him and not something to do with the palace.

There are robes draped over a chair, heavier ones than the gauzy things his master likes to see him in. They don’t fit exactly right, the hems just a little short at his wrists and bare ankles- and he knows who they must belong to.

“Thank you, Yao-ge,” he mumbles to the empty space around him, then layers them against the chill.

There is a barred window that is the only thing of interest.

He pulls a chair over and tries to sit, then winces and decides on the cushions on the floor instead.

All he wants to see is the sky, anyway.

—

The Nightless City has its name for a reason. Even as the true sun vanishes, there is enough light from the fire pits and the many lanterns that he can only see the very brightest stars.

He has heard noises on the other side of the door; running feet and low but urgent voices. But none of them have been Meng Yao, so he has mostly ignored them, too intent on savoring the most peace and quiet he’s had since-

A flash and the sound of a small explosion jolt him out of the light doze he was drifting into, and he lurches to his feet and stares up through the window at the flare for what seems like ages before his mind finally registers that it’s not a Wen flare.

And then there is another.

And then three more from a different direction.

Soon there are dozens, in multiple colors and sect symbols, and behind him, he can hear the chaos in the hallway briefly rise, then abruptly cease.

When he starts laughing, it seems like it’s coming from outside himself, from a non-existent other person in the room. Only when the laughter gradually morphs into tears does the feeling slowly gather in his chest, pulling inward from outside him.

Even that has faded by the time a fist hammers on the door, leaving him completely numb as he turns to face the intruders.

They are wearing the colors of his sect and the one in front at least has a proper saber, but he doesn’t recognize any of them… another note on the very extensive list of reminders of just how long it has been since his one and only ill-fated attempt to escape this place.

The man in the lead looks him over -barefoot, hair loose, borrowed robes- and his lip has already started to curl in disgust before his gaze focuses needle sharp on the horrible mark of ownership that covers half of Nie Huaisang’s face.

“Zongzhu has us spread out looking for you,” he says, clearly irritated to have been given such a ‘useless’ task when he could have been doing something of actual importance.

Nie Huaisang does not snip back at him.

Nie Huaisang keeps his head down and follows the small knot of mixed soldiers and cultivators, and doesn’t respond when one or another pushes him out of annoyance at how slow he’s moving. He realizes they’re taking him back to the throne room and dread begins to well up from his stomach into the back of his throat.

It is nothing like the dread he has lived with every waking moment previously, thick and sticky and weighing his whole body down as though drowning in wet clay. No, this dread is sharp and so cold it burns its way through his body like the winters back home, leaving his nose and fingers and toes prickling and his lungs feeling like he has inhaled needles.

The door opens and his escorts move aside.

His brother is staring at him.

So is everyone else gathered in the throne room.

The dread cracks and shatters under the gush of mortification that floods down his throat, leaving him so dizzy that his legs refuse to hold him.

All Nie Huaisang can do is kneel, head down, as the crowd -people he knows and people he doesn’t and so many people, people, people- erupt into gossiping, some whispering and some not bothering.

Within moments, it all blends together into a dull wordless sea of noise, which he thinks might be his mind’s last desperate attempt at preserving itself under this final assault on the barest shred of dignity he has left.

Was this intentional?

Is it another layer of the game?

Does that matter?

Trembling and struggling to just keep inhaling and exhaling air, he decides that it doesn’t.

He lost.

He lost, he lost, he lost, he has been losing ever since he proved himself too pathetic to get out of this on his own.

He says nothing in his defense- does not apologize, nor beg- because what good would it do?

His brother has to despise him, as he's practically an embodiment of his worthlessness as a Nie now.

Marked for ownership by their most hated enemy; a grotesque mockery of everything their sect -their family- stands for.

At best he can probably hope for exile... much more likely is that the stain on their name will be removed directly.

A heavy hand comes to rest on his back and he involuntarily cringes, curling in on himself even more. His brother’s voice cuts through the dull roar around him and in his head, but he can’t understand the words.

More murmuring, then-

“Out. Now!”

He doesn’t mean to jump at the snarled command; doesn’t mean to recoil as some long-forgotten sense of self-preservation suddenly flares to life from under the piles and piles of ash that Wen Ruohan had made of his mind. The way his head jerks up like that of a startled deer is completely involuntary.

They are alone. And his brother… is angry.

Angry, angry, angry, so angry.

But not… but not at him.

The other big hand lays Baxia down on the cold stone floor then comes to rest on his face, broad palm covering the inner swirl of the brand and thumb covering one of the flames that extend over his nose in a way that is hot, but -for once- not painfully scorching.

“Didi. Who. Did this?” his brother asks, a deep rumble like the sound of a rock fall that threatens to become a whole avalanche.

It should be an easy answer, and yet it takes him once, twice, three times to manage to get his voice and mouth to form the words “Wen Ruohan did it himself.”

Da-ge’s eyes narrow. “No one else?”

He doesn’t know what Da-ge is searching for. For him to lie?

The dread starts to creep back in. Is this a test? Is he failing? Will he be exiled or executed after all? Should-

The hands on his face and back tense briefly, then gentle, and so does Da-ge’s expression. “Nevermind,” he says. “We’ll talk about those things later.

And then Nie Huaisang finds himself swept into a near-bruising hug, the unblemished side of his face pressed into Da-ge’s shoulder.

Oh, this-

This-

His breath hitches in his throat, and then comes out as a sob.

—

There is a banquet.

Nie Huaisang does not go, instead remaining holed up in the new room he has been given for as long as the logistics of breaking down what remains of the spoils among the Sunshot participants will take.

He has yet to find anything suitable for covering his face, and though he has already embarrassed himself and his brother by appearing in front of some of those allies, there will be… others attending, and he wants to put off having to be seen by them as long as possible.

Someone leaves him food and wine at the door.

That’s good enough.

There is one thing he needs to do, however, and once it is late enough that he can be reasonably sure he won’t run into any revelers, he silently slips out of his room.

Just his luck that Da-ge and Xichen-ge are walking down the hall just as he exits, but they are fortunately too distracted to notice him, talking urgently in low tones.

“-and my answer is still no, Xichen. I will have enough to deal with looking after my flesh and blood brother.”

“Mingjue-xiong-”

He decides he does not want to know what they are discussing, and continues on his way.

The last time he saw Meng Yao was when he was being hidden away from whatever -likely Wen Ruohan’s death- was happening in the throne room.

He has heard that Meng Yao has finally won legitimization.

He just wants to see for himself, that’s all.

—

Of course, he hadn’t expected to immediately be placed on the same level as his half-brother, but Jin Guangyao had hoped for… something more when his father had decided to officially declare their familial relationship.

Something more than continuing to be the hands that conducted the dirty work to keep others clean.

Something more than a private -public- joke to be snickered at as his family got deeper into their cups.

Sitting on his temporary bed, he sighs and rubs his face. At least Nie-zongzhu hadn’t picked any especially tumultuous arguments… not with him, anyway. That’s a good sign, considering…

He wishes A-Sang had been there. He understands why he wasn’t, but nonetheless, he wishes A-Sang had been there.

He hadn’t been present for the reunion of the Nie brothers in the throne room, having been carrying out his father’s demand elsewhere, but he had heard about it by eavesdropping on the eavesdroppers, and he just wants to know if-

-no, nevermind.

He will check up on his once-charge in the morning, once things have settled and he doesn’t have to worry about being bitten by a certain protective guard dog of a brother.

He finishes shedding his boots, and is just about to blow out the candle and settle under the covers when there is a soft -very familiar- pattern rapped at his door.

Surprised, but not unhappy, to hear it, Jin Guangyao gets up to answer it and offers a smile to his visitor.

#mdzs #sangyao #ruosang #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie sect #not tagging wen ruohan 'cause he's dead #but his actions haunt the narrative #fanfic

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icypantherwrites · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!

I really love your works!

Especially those related to the Voltron fandom.

Unfortunately the fandom is a bit stagnant but it's nice to see how you keep it active. Just for Voltron I wanted to ask, what would you think of a Canon au where Lance is possessed by an alien god and the team has to save him, and in the process face the fact that they treated him poorly and were a mediocre team?

Aw, well thank you ♥ It's definitely a pretty dead fandom these days, but doing my best to at least finish posting Here and wrapping up that trilogy on AO3 :)

To your question, I will admit that I don't ever envision or write the team as ever purposefully treating Lance poorly as I don't think they are like that. I think they are human (or Altean or part-Galran ;p) and like all of us sometimes we can get so wrapped up in our own problems or concerns or even our own past experiences that we can inadvertently hurt someone we care about through our actions (or inactions). So that would not be a story I personally could write or design as it goes against how I view the characters.

That said, I've explored in a few of my stories elements of where members of the team have unintentionally hurt Lance. I think it's very reasonable to hurt someone you care about like that in the short-term (with the exception to this being Kuron!Shiro whose actions can hurt in longer term because he's not quite himself) when there are outside factors and even internal ones that can skew your perception of the situation and how it might affect another.

If you're interested, a few of those off the top of my head are:

Quiet Your Pain, Suffer in Silence

Summary: Lance has never liked the quiet and he likes it even less on this big, empty castle far away from home. He tries to fill it with stories and laughter so it doesn't feel quite as lonely.

But lately whenever Lance opens his mouth all he seems to do is upset people, annoy people and now… now he’s hurt them too. So there’s only one solution.

He just won’t ever talk again.

Icy Notes: This one is probably the most 'team hurts Lance' story on the list as everyone (save my sunshine boys Hunk and Coran) do indeed hurt Lance by their words and actions. They all realize though in the end what hurt they caused (thanks, Coran!) and resolve it.

The Poison of Deceit

Summary: This diplomatic mission is not going the way Lance had hoped. The diplomacy part on behalf of Voltron is going fantastic and Lance doesn’t think he’d be remiss in saying he had a large hand in that. But the whole impress Shiro bit is an epic fail as Shiro doesn’t seem to notice his efforts at all and it’s only worse with Keith showing him up at nearly every turn. The aliens they’re working on the alliance though have noticed his efforts. But as Lance stands here now, Shiro and Keith’s lives along with a vial of poison in his hands, he isn’t so certain that was a good thing.

Icy Notes: This one might be the closest take to your comment about the alien God in the sense that an outside party is also involved. This one is just focused on Lance, Shiro and Keith so not the whole team, but those two do get a very hard lesson in what it means to be a good friend and is definitely going to stick with them.

Feast

Summary: Lance is well aware he's the weak link on Team Voltron. He knows he's not the brightest. But he's not stupid. And he's always thought that even despite his shortcomings he had not just a place with Voltron, but friends who would look out for him just as he would do for them.

But that doesn't seem to be the case anymore. While there's no knife to stab him in the back, the ones his friends wield with their cruel, heartless words cuts just as deep. And by the time Lance realizes that something is wrong, that these people are not his friends, it's too late.

The feast has begun.

Icy Notes: This story has a lot of other plot points other than just team treating Lance poorly, although it is the most literal interpretation of the team hurting Lance (legit torturing him) even if it's not quite them... But it explores the show post Game Show and how those actions made Lance feel and again, unable to confide in his team and feeling like no one values him.

Worth(less) (please note this one is rated M!)

Summary: On their journey to Earth, Voltron stops at a planet for supplies and finds that its inhabitants are not only incredibly generous but powerful and would make strong allies in their upcoming fight. In order to secure the alliance, the king assigns a member of his council to observe each Paladin and judge their worth.

Lance is delighted to find out his evaluator is the king’s own son, Prince Barin, who is a formidable fighter and pilot, and he’s determined to prove himself worthy and make Voltron proud, especially following the horrible game show experience with Bob.

Except Lance discovers that the prince isn’t interested in evaluating his worth as a Paladin; he's just interested in his body. And for the sake of the universe… Lance knows what he has to do.

Icy Notes: Like Feast above, there's a lot of other plot at play here and definitely heed warnings if you read it, but a large part of said plot is Lance's reactions and feelings from the Game Show where he felt like the team didn't care about him and so he's unable to trust them now. Horrible consequences for thinking so little of himself and unable to go to the team for support, but comfort and resolution at the end.

#icyanswers #fanfiction #Voltron #VLD #Langst #Fix-It Fics #Team as Family #fic recs #Icy fic recs #I always rec my own fics xD #fic rec

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imarvelatstars · 4 months ago

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She Walks In Starlight

Pairings: Clone Trooper Sister x f!Reader

Content: slight angst, rex's clone uprising, tbb s3 spoilers, vague description of blood and injuries, inspired by feast of starlight from the hobbit

Word Count: 2.6k

originally posted march 17th, 2024

[masterlist] [ao3 link]

Sister knows a disaster when she sees it; she's been through enough of them with the 212th. It's just that she's never had a disaster of this magnitude happen to her.

There's so much blood. It slicks her gloves until they're soaked, streaks across her armor until the pink and blue brushstrokes are entirely gone. And her heart. It's pounding in her ears so fiercely that she can feel the veins there ticking, feel her skin pulsating with each beat.

She scrambles out of the wreckage, but she's dizzy and her visor's busted, and everything feels wrong. Everything's too tight, too constricting. Her body's hot and cold all at once. And her head hurts like a kriffing clanker just walloped her in the face.

The helmet comes off and clatters atop the cobbles she's crashed upon. Then her knees give out.

The world is hazy now, distant and far away. Something in the back of her mind screams that this is bad, but she can't find it in her to care. Somehow, that seems bad too.

With the last of her strength, she forces her eyes open and fixates on the burning wreckage of her ship. Hardly a ship now when it's busted into pieces and melting all over the forest floor. But she made it, she realizes in a moment of clarity, and that makes her smile. Even if she dies here, even if this is the end of her story, she's proud to have made it this far. She escaped the Empire and that was all she wanted.

Well. Almost.

A breeze comes drifting through the leaves then and as it stirs her hair, Sister finds herself regretting just one last thing. She wishes she could have seen you again.

"We need a medic!"

Whatever was left of your tiingilar goes spilling across the table as Samson, Greer, and Koa breach the main entrance, half tripping over themselves as they carry a- is that kriffing body? Fireball swipes the remainder of his shit off the table - a data pad, his helmet, his own empty bowl - while you run for the nearest medpac.

"She's bleeding out. I need gauze!"

It doesn't hit you until the moment you return, when you see her, what he's said. She.

The body. The body wearing clone armor, painted blue and pink at the joints and chest, covered in blood. Is it her own? Utterly frozen, your eyes drop to the chestplate that's scored with dirt and vibroblade marks, chipped with paint that you know like the back of your own hand. Maker help you, you know that armor. You know her. Even without the armor, you'd know her.

The medpac is ripped from your hands and someone's grabbing you, shouting at you, but you can't hear a single thing they're saying because she is everything - everything you see, everything your universe contains - and she is bleeding out on the table where you take your meals each day.

You reach for her, but you never manage to grab hold. "Sister," you say, but the word is gritty and raw, dry in your mouth. "Sister. She's..." You don't even dare to say it for fear of speaking the nightmare into existence. But she's bloody and pale, and she's not waking up. And you know she's probably going to die. "Help her."

It's then that you realize why you can't reach her. It's Echo. He's holding you back, a hand wrapped around your elbow and the scomp on your back. You turn to him, but you don't see him, can't see him. All you see is her. Her hair, her eyes, closed but you know they're dark and warm beneath the lids. You know the path of her scars and the shape of her callouses, and she's here and you can't find her, and you can't see Echo, and it's all too much because it's all so wrong.

"Echo," you start. You're squirming as he fights to hold you back. "Echo, she's, she's not... She's bleeding. Help her."

"Samson's got her taken care of," he assures you. "You need to give him room to work."

But you shake your head. "No." That's not right either. "She needs me."

She's dying. Why else would there be so much blood?

"What she needs is for you to give them space to save her. She'll be alright."

And maybe she will be. Perhaps in some other dimension, she makes it out of this alive, but that's not here, that's not now. Here and now, you're watching the woman you love bleed out on the dinner table and it's the first time you've seen her since before the Republic collapsed. And you'll be damned if you're not by her side the entire time.

Echo doesn't seem to see it the same way, and that's what gets you detained in a holding zone for the next hour.

"She's stable now," he tells you once he returns to let you out. "You okay?"

Kriff no, you're not okay. Your stomach is churning and the whole inside of your cheek is raw from chewing on it, and your leg won't stop bouncing nor will your heart stop pounding. Because you really thought you'd lost her.

But for his sake, you attempt a polite grimace. "Yeah. Can I see her?"

His palm flattens against the door controls. Heart in your throat, you follow him across the compound to the table she rests on. All of her armor's been removed and stacked in a vaguely neat pile along the nearby supply crates, but it's still stained with blood, all crusty and rusted pink. Her body is crisscrossed with gauze strips and bacta patches, her blacks torn to shreds to the point where they're hardly useful anymore. But she's there, alive, and realer than any dream you've had before.

"Cyare."

Your hand finds her jaw before you even realize you're doing it. And for a moment, one singular, fleeting moment, it's as if you're back on Coruscant, as if this war had never happened, as if she's just got back from deployment and you're welcoming her into your flat. The way it used to be. The way it should have been.

"What happened to you?" you ask, though there's no one to answer you. Sister may be alive, but she's thoroughly unconscious and likely will be for a while if her injuries are anything to go by.

Your hands find one of hers and lift it to your mouth to press a kiss there, like you always used to do, but your lips are met with gauze. And it breaks your fucking heart.

"It's okay. It's okay, baby." You kiss the wrinkled slip of gauze across her knuckles. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Keeping busy is the only thing you can do. Your mind is too scattered to be of much use to anyone, so your usual duties are taken over by Greer, and the time spent anxiously waiting for Sister to wake is used on other things that won't drive you mad - checking her injuries and changing her bandages, scrubbing the blood from her armor, quietly whispering all the things you've longed to share with her in the year she's been gone. You tell her how you found Rex, the work you did in the early days of his rebellion shuttling food and clothes to the Martez repair shop. You tell her about the brothers that were lost and the brothers that were found, how every day you hoped and prayed you'd find her among the clones fleeing the Empire. You tell her that you never gave up searching, never stopped believing you'd find her again. You tell her you love her, but it's not enough to wake her.

Rex takes the empty end of the bench. "How're you holding up?"

The truth is too painful to verbalize, so you opt for a half-truth instead. "I'm okay. I'm just glad she's here."

He nods, almost smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You want me to watch her for a while?"

"No," you say far too quickly, and with a frantic urgency that should be embarrassing. It's not. Not when it's her. "Sorry. I just, I wanna be here when she wakes up."

A dozen different strings of thought seem to cross his mind then, though he doesn't speak any of them. Whatever he's thinking, he ultimately chooses to keep to himself. "I understand. It's not easy being the one who has to wait."

No, it's not.

"I'd suggest you take a break and get some sleep, but you're not gonna listen. Are you?"

You could apologize for it, but you'd both know it to be a lie. Instead, you offer Rex a smile that says everything you don't know how to say. He sighs.

"Once she's up. I promise."

"Alright." His hand rests gently on your shoulder and then he's gone.

Your attention returns to Sister, to the gentle rise and fall of her chest that marks a rhythm so familiar it might as well be carved into your very bones. "You'll be up soon, huh?" You lean in to nuzzle your cheek against the upper swell of her arm. "It'll be okay, cyare. I promise."

But by now, you're not sure if it's a promise you can keep. The Empire has taken so much from all of you, it would make sense for it to take her too. If you had never known she was still alive, it might have been easier. If you had been forced to endure the rest of your days believing in a dream that could never be, it might have been endurable, but now that you know she's been alive all this time, now that you know she tried to come to Teth and join the uprising, you're not sure you could ever know a moment of peace if she died here.

She has to live. There is no other option.

Hope comes late at night when the stars are out and your body has given in to exhaustion. You're stirred from your slumber when your head thunks solidly on the table. Still half asleep, you jerk into a sitting position and look around in an attempt to assess the situation. Is it an attack? Is something wrong? Is Sister alright?

"Mmh, where... am I?"

That voice. Oh Maker, that voice, you'd know it anywhere. You fear for the longest moment that it's a figment of your imagination, the product of your sleep-addled mind conjuring hallucinations, that this is all just another dream, but no. No, it's real. She's awake and blinking, frowning. She's alive.

You're so frantic to stand that you nearly trip over yourself trying to extract your legs from the bench. "Sister? Baby, are you-?"

"'s so dark," she slurs. "Can't... Where...?"

You're shouting before you even realize it. "Rex! Rex, she's awake!" You're so happy, you could cry. You are crying. "Cyare, honey, it's okay. It's me."

Her head tilts to one side, then the other as she tries to assess her surroundings, but it's clear she's struggling. A concussion, one of her brothers had said, a side effect of the crash that had nearly cost her life. Between that and the dimmed lights, it would be a miracle if she could make out anything in the entire compound.

Her furrowed gaze settles on you a moment later, only without a shred of recognition. "Who, who are you?"

Your heart is shattering. Every broken shard of it is piercing through your skin, ripping you apart from the inside out. Does she truly not remember you?

You press one of her hands to your face. "It's me, Sister, your..." Her what, exactly? There had never been a true label on the thing that simmered between you. In your head and in your heart, she had quite simply been yours as you had been hers. Now, though, you wish for a word deeper than girlfriend and more vibrant than lover. "You remember me?"

Rex, Nemec, and Samson come running in then with a couple of spare medpacs and wide, frantic eyes. Rex wordlessly asks for your hand - to take you away, no doubt, to let their brothers check her over. You know they need to, you know she needs the medical attention more than she needs you, but you hate having to leave her.

"No, wait, Rex, I can stay. Let me stay."

"That's not a good idea," he answers with a shake of his head. He's already starting to pull you away. "She'll be fine. Let's just give the boys some space, alright?"

You lunge for her hand as you're maneuvered apart. "Cyare, cyare, it's okay! It's okay, just stay awake for me, baby, okay? Rex, lemme-"

"Is that...?" It's as if your voice is a magnet, drawing her up until she's sitting upright, blindly searching the room for - for you? Your name is desperate on her tongue in the worst possible way. "Can't be..."

"Easy, vod," says Samson with a hand at her collarbone. "Lay back. You're still pretty roughed up."

Nemec leans in with a bacta stim. "Talk to me, Sister, okay? Can you do that?"

She frowns as she's laid back down. You've stopped struggling by now, but it's more from your own shock than anything else. This all feels too real and somehow not real enough. You're watching her as if through a lens, as if she were far away, as if your reality has ceased to exist while she wades through her the uncertainty of her own.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Sister grunts when Samson starts swiping disinfectant over one of her wounds. "My ship... They shot me right before I, I went to hyperspace, and then..." She starts to sit up again, but Nemec holds her down. "Where is she?"

"Your ship crashed in the jungle. Not much of it left, I'm afraid."

"No." She says your name again, softer this time, as Rex's arms tighten around you. "She was here, but... She can't be." You know the separation is for the best, that you'd be little more than a distraction if you were free, but it kills you just the same.

The two brothers exchange looks.

"Made sure of it," she mutters, and her head falls back against the table. "'s not safe."

You strain against the press of the Captain's vambraces, but he holds fast. "Rex, please."

Nemec offers her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "It's alright, vod, you're safe now. The Empire's not gonna find you here. We'll get you all taken care of."

But she keeps babbling, mumbling half-finished sentences that don't make any sense, about Kamino, Coruscant, the Empire, you. She keeps asking for you as if she were indeed still stuck in a dream, caught somewhere else where the world is vast and hope is a sure thing.

"Promised her I'd come back. Never, never did. Now she's far away." She smiles in the prettiest way she ever has, half delirious and broken, and you swear nothing's ever hurt so much as this does. "She's... she's like, like starlight."

Samson's head tilts in your direction, eyes dark and tired, but you think he might be inclined to smile. He applies another bacta patch to the worst of the wounds with gentle, steady hands. "Tell us about her."

"She's gone," she laments. "She'll forget about me. 's, 's for the best..."

Later, though, when the boys are gone and she's lucid, you'll tell her just how wrong she is. You'll tell her how you would have waited a lifetime for her, you'll tell her that she's too deeply imprinted on your heart for you to ever love another. And you'll hold her 'til the stars fall from the sky, 'til the universe crumbles around you. You'll tell her that she is the truest starlight you've ever known, always illuminating the darkest night with her brilliantly shimmering heart and her undying hope. You'll tell her that she walks in starlight in another world, and you're simply blessed to follow along in her wake.

#clone trooper sister #clone trooper sister x reader #star wars #x reader

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